


Louis' Song

by heavyheart



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 09:53:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavyheart/pseuds/heavyheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> In which Harry is a lovesick kid listening to his parents joke about him and Louis, and then it's not really a joke.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Louis' Song

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on [tumblr](http://ziamo.tumblr.com/post/32921310735/louis-song)  a while back but I'm moving my semi okay stuff over here, so. Enjoy?

When Harry is five, a family moves into the house across the street, where Mary Sue and Uncle Chris used to live. There are three kids that climb out of the mini van that first day- one little girl (and three more to come, later on, two little girls that look so much alike it’s almost comical and another, a bit older, that will learn to cling to Harry’s legs whenever he’s near) and a boy, with blue eyes that light up when he laughs and a smile that takes up his entire face.

He watches the boy for a week before he finally talks to him, nervous little steps across the quiet suburban street in sneakers too small for his feet, diving under bushes and behind trees whenever the boy takes a curious look around. But then he’s standing right in front of him, giddy and smiling and wide eyed as he watches the boy slowly look up from under long lashes that make him far too pretty for his own good. 

At five, it doesn’t mean much, that inch or two of space the boy moves over to make room for Harry, the way he says “I’m Louis, and I’m seven.” like it’s meant to be kept secret. It doesn’t mean much then, but things change, and people grow.

Two years later it’s not much different, still Harry as he follows Louis around, just wanting to catch a glimpse of those soft eyes that remind Harry of the stars he can see only when they go out to the country, away from the busy lights of the city, and hear that laugh that seems endless. 

Their parents get on almost too well, always having each other over for a meal when the weathers nice and setting up the sprinkler so the kids can run through it until it’s dark enough that the bonfire is lit. Harry’s father and Louis’ dad are always making jokes, ones that slip over seven-year-old Harry’s head; about the two young boys future wedding and how  _madly, deeply, truly_  in love with one another they are, and their mums laugh and exchange smiles and a few sighs of, “Oh, my,” before ruffling their sons hair and sending them off to play, out of earshot of their joking fathers. Every night is the same, for Harry, two steps behind the older boy no matter what, through the eye rolls and the shoves that push him into the mud, through the days Louis looks like he wants to kill him and the nights they roast marshmallows side by side. 

When they’re a little bit older they convince their mums to buy a playhouse for them, set up in Louis’ backyard high enough up in the biggest tree that they have to use a ladder to reach it, far enough away from the ground that Harry feels like he’s on top of the world, sitting up there with his legs swinging off the edge as Louis talks and talks and talks until he decides he’s annoyed with Harry and orders him out, threatens to beat him up because  _“I’m bigger than you, Haz, don’t forget that, okay?”_ But he never gets to, because soon Harry’s growing up, 10 years old and almost as tall as Louis, shooting higher every day.

And one day, when they’re sitting out on the curb eating watermelon that’s more water than taste, Harry feels confident (he’s wearing the shirt his Mum and Gemma bought him, too big even with the sleeves cuffed, the one that makes him feel older and sophisticated) and challenges Louis. In a game of who-can-spit-the-farthest, they try to propel the black seeds farther than the other, but it only lasts five minutes before Louis huffs and sits back on his haunches, nose scrunched up in a way that’s too cute to look anything other than adorable.

“It’s not fair, you keep winning,” He complains, digging fingers into dirt and crushing it in his fist. Harry feels guilty, all of a sudden, wants to take back his spits and let Louis win them all, anything to get that upset look out of his ever smiling eyes. But before Harry can speak, Louis goes on. “It’s your lips- they’re-” He stops, ears flushing red. Louis doesn’t finish his sentence, just digs back into his fruit and avoids Harry’s eyes. 

“They’re what?” He touches them self-consciously, feeling the sticky sweetness they’re still covered in, dripping down his chin and onto the front of the shirt he’s so proud of. 

Louis manages a glance out of the corner of his eye. “Nothing! They’re… better. Than mine.”

Harry is ten and he doesn’t know much about liking anyone because the only person he’s ever paid attention to is Louis, but he knows how it’s described by those girls on the telly, that little flutter in your stomach, and he knows what they do after that, the same thing his mum and dad do when one of them leaves for work in the morning or when they get home. It’s never like this though, between two boys, but what does it matter, really, it’s  _LouisandHarry_. “Kiss me.” It’s an innocent request, one made from boyish urgency and giggling words, but Louis turns stone cold, before he leans forward just a little bit, eyebrows knit together in concentration. It makes Harry laugh, his expression mixed with the feeling of Louis’ breath on his nose, so he squeals and jumps away, running up to Louis’ house and bouncing in the doorway until he topples onto his couch, doubled over in laughter.

And if Louis stops hanging out with Harry after that, they don’t talk about it, instead blaming it on the fact that Louis’ moved to a different school now, has friends in his own grade, get’s a girlfriend he calls Hannah, the one he takes too many pictures with and has over far too often. But she’s gone within the year and Harry breathes a sigh of relief, even though he really shouldn’t, he’s never had a chance with Louis, too clingy and wide eyed and helplessly infatuated for him to take any real interest in.

The night before Harry’s 16th birthday, he’s home studying with his friends, tossing pencils at the other and talking about the girls they think are fit (or boys, in Harry and Zayn’s case Zayn’s making eyes at Liam, and everyone but Liam notices, looks of longing and heart ache and plain adoration that he’s kept harbored in for as long as any of them remember). They make a plan to take a day trip to London, Niall laughing as Harry highlights every stop they have to take, all watching as Liam gets more and more nervous. And Harry’s fine, now, only watches the brightly lit house across the street on some nights, only misses Louis most of the time, not all. But then the phone rings, and they all scramble for it, even if it’s Harry’s house, before he wrestles it out of their grip and breathes a gasping “Hello?”

It’s a little surprising when it’s one of the Tomlinson girls, giggling as Harry answers and finally squeaking out that he’s invited over for dinner with his family the following night, tells him that he’s welcome to bring friends, and Harry figures it’s Lottie, thinks of how strange it is that she’s grown up even when she’s been out of sight. And he shouldn’t be so excited, to spend his birthday with Louis and their families, but he is. The next night comes faster than he’s ready for, and he dresses in his favorite jeans and a grey cardigan he thinks Louis might like, because the fabric is soft and worn and Louis always liked things like that, imperfect and comfortable and used.

Harry can’t help but laugh because it’s almost as if he never left Louis house that afternoon; feels weird when he walks through the kitchen and it’s much of the same, because he expected things to change, to evolve, to move forward, but time seems to have stilled in the house, stuck in time until Harry was welcomed back in.

“It’s been a while,” is all Louis says, at first, coming up from behind him to whisper in his ear, and Harry can’t breathe for a while, can’t help but notice the way Louis eyes him over the dinner table and nestles close to him on the couch when they sit down for a movie, can’t pretend he doesn’t see the wink that’s thrown at him as he blows out all 16 candles, and he certainly can’t ignore the kiss he’s given on his cheek as they leave. And maybe Louis’ view on Harry has changed, a bit, now that his cheeks aren’t chubby and flushed all the time and his legs have grown longer, but Harry still see’s Louis in the same shining light, as bright and beautiful and exquisite as he’s always been.

And all of a sudden Louis is there, all the time. At his locker after school, sitting on his doorstep as he waits for Harry to get home from football practice, around every corner, behind every door. And maybe Harry should mind, at least a little bit, but he doesn’t. Louis kisses him for the first time on the same curb they sat at years ago, when Harry was just a kid with fruit on his lips and they both harbored secret crushes for the other. 

It comes easy to Harry, the falling in love. The plunging in deep, putting every moment and cell and fiber of his being into Louis. And their dad’s still joke, because now at dinners it’s  _LouisandHarry_  and the rest of the family, while they hold hands and giggle and roll their eyes at each other, always sharing dumb jokes and laughing too loud.

And then it’s summer, and it’s Louis’ last bit at home, and all they can do is drown in the heat. They take Harry’s truck out to the lake in the middle of the night and drive it through the creek beds, going too fast and too slow and singing along to the radio so loud it filters out of the open windows and nests in the tree’s, the sound hanging there, dripping of sweet memories and young love.

But it doesn’t last forever, the summer runs out and September is nipping at their heals- relentless and pressing and terrifying. And it scares Harry, if he’s honest, because Louis is leaving, running off to Uni and they’re saying they’ll try long distance but has it ever worked in anything other than the movies? (Louis points out, when Harry brings this up, that Harry shouldn’t be so quick to judge.

“We could be like Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger!” Louis cries, letting out a half-assed ‘yee-haww’.

“You realize you just made a reference to Broke Back Mountain, right?” Is all Harry says.

“It’s a good movie.”

There’s a daringly long pause. “Why am I dating you?”

They don’t mention the fact that Louis’ ignored Harry’s concerns, once again, because it’s easier that way.)

The Fall comes and Louis only has a week left, and all he’s doing is packing and cleaning and shopping and _leaving_. And it’s awful and all Harry can do is curl up on Louis’ bed, stripped bare of the pale blue sheets that usually lay messily on top, those are packed and shoved away in some box that will be loaded into the car later on, and watch Louis as he moves frantically around.

“Well, you could, you know,” Louis eyes him, looking annoyed, “ _help_.”

“With what?” Harry says, noncommittal. 

Louis stands up straight, shoulders tense with irritation. “With all of this, any of it, you haven’t done one thing since I told you it was time.”

Harry stands up too, makes for the door, anything to get away from this- from the leaving and the pacing and the sinking feeling of being abandoned. “Why would I help you leave me, Louis? This is all so fucking screwed up, and you know it, but you won’t _talk to me_. So no, I’m not going to help you pack up your shit.” It’s got to be one of their first fights- Harry isn’t forward enough, loves Louis too much to ever get to any real level of anger, and whenever Louis yells or shouts or throws a hissy fit it’s over in moments, dissolved into nothing- so it’s a little hard, to slam the door to his room and make his way back across the street, thanking god his family is gone for the weekend and locking up the house, locking up his heart. He figures if the windows are shut and the doorknob kept in place, nothing can get to him. Not the loneliness, not the fear, not reality- and especially not Louis.

But Louis waits, Harry can see him from his place on the living room couch. He sits on the doorstep of Harry’s house and he wants to go to him, wants to let him in and pull him close, but what would that change? So instead he turns on the telly and works at falling asleep, until it’s morning and Louis is still there. Because Louis never leaves, Harry realizes. Louis will stay.

The good bye is every bit as painful as they imagined, if not more so. But Harry has hope and Louis is excited and “hey, I’m not even that far away”. And the first year is tough, too long stretched between visits and phone calls never long enough. But then Harry’s graduating, and Louis is there (skipping classes to watch him gather his certificate, but it’s only college, and this is Harry, so who cares) and this time it’s Louis helping him pack his things, bringing him back to London with him without a moments hesitation. 

It’s never easy, not with Louis and Harry, not with the fights and the rolled eyes and love so strong it makes them feel like less, sometimes, giving so much to someone. But it’s worth it, it’s always worth it. They break up a few times, let off steam and focus it on the other, taking breaks because sometimes it’s a little bit too much. And one time it lasts for all of a month, before Louis is crashing into Liam and Zayn and Niall’s flat, where he stays when they fight, and demanding him to move back (it isn’t romantic like you would think, he doesn’t beg or plead or swoon or give sweet words, but he’s there and it’s enough, for Harry) so he does.

When Harry is 23 and Louis 25, they take a week to visit their families, a reunion of sorts, and it’s different because their parents have gotten divorced and remarried, Anne when Harry was young and Louis only recently, but everyone comes together for a meal, just another bonfire set behind the Tomlinson house, with screaming and water fights and Harry staring at Louis. The next day they go into town, and Louis stops Harry at the fountain in the town square they used to play in as kids. Harry doesn’t really believe it when he get’s down on one knee, but he says yes. Harry will always say yes.

They stay in town, because if it wasn’t for home they never would have met each other, and it’s nice. And a little bit later, after the files have been filled out and they’ve sat at the phone for months, waiting for it to ring, they finally get the call. They name him George, born only a few hours away by a girl that couldn’t be bothered, but they call him their own and love him more than life itself. When he grows up (alongside two little sisters) they find he has the voice of an angel. Louis jokes that he must be theirs, somehow, some magic being spun up and worked from the ‘hands of God himself’ because he looks so much like the both of them people have to take a step back and look twice when the three walk around together.

And Harry will love Louis until the day he dies, because Louis has been his everything since the day he first saw him, just a kid playing video games out his bedroom window. And Louis loves Harry more and more every day (or so he says), and nothing ever changes, because they’re  _LouisandHarry_ , and they’re forever.


End file.
